


In Waking Dreams

by Otonymous



Category: MLQC: Fandom, love and producer, 恋与制作人 | Liàn Yǔ Zhì Zuò Rén | Mr. Love: Queen's Choice (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Masturbation, Post-Break Up, Public Blow Jobs, Spoilers, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-28 00:41:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20417030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Otonymous/pseuds/Otonymous
Summary: What’s a girl to do when her entire world has been torn apart?  This is my (smutty) take on MC dealing with the aftermath of Chapter 13.





	In Waking Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently, in the aftermath of writing "Flutter," I felt like torturing myself with more angst, this time from the MC’s perspective. 😂
> 
> This story can be read as a stand-alone, but readers may get a fuller picture if they also read "Flutter," which was written in Lucien's POV.
> 
> The story contains SPOILERS for the game, up to and including chapter 13! Please note the potential trigger warnings in the tags above. 
> 
> Happy reading!

When the dust finally settled, she found, much to her dismay, that she did not hate him. That instead of flaring up to consume all remembrances of the man in its path, a heavy darkness fell upon the flames of anger to snuff them out, leaving only the dying embers of a love she had believed to be real.

_Had any of it been real?_

The thought alone brought a familiar tingle to the tip of her nose, but her eyes remained dry. She had run out of tears to cry.

She knew it now — the plot had been revealed, the complicated tapestry of the spider’s web unravelling with the sole purpose of luring its unsuspecting prey. But even still, every thought, no matter how benign, traced its way along a tenuous strand until it led her back to the centre of it all: Lucien.

Or more correctly, Ares.

The neat scrawl of his handwriting on the margins of scientific papers he gathered on her behalf in preparation for her shows. The pink apron he surprised her with as thanks for cooking for him when he fell ill. The toothbrush that stood next to hers, stubbornly refusing to give up its space on her bathroom counter.

He was everywhere. Because for the longest time, Lucien had been her world.

To hate him would be tantamount to tearing apart everything in her life, for even the most mundane things had taken on his colours: black, and white, and the grey in between.

She would sit in the theatre they used to frequent together, watching as love played out in monochrome shadows across the silver screen, and wait. Wait for that moment when she felt his presence in the seat behind hers, hauntingly inviting. And when she could wait no longer, she would turn, hoping to catch a glimpse of dark hair falling over equally dark eyes, of the subtle elegance of a Grecian nose, of a smile that was as seductive as it was kind.

Kind.

Had she been so starved for kindness that she was willing to obtain it at any and all costs? And just at the point when she would begin to mentally berate herself for this moment of weakness, she remembered.

Remembered being entranced by the smooth slide of black leather as he pulled the tip of each finger in unhurried turn, folding his gloves inside the pocket of a wool coat the colour of midnight. Recalled the hint of cedar wood and freshly cut grass, sweet and subtle and intoxicating as she inhaled deeply to assure herself of his presence. Felt the heat of his phantom touch leave an incendiary trail as it traveled beneath her skirt, his voice soothing against her ear as he whispered that no one could hear the evidence of her arousal over the soundtrack.

And when the enigma in his eyes pulled her down its unfathomable depths, she would sink low...low…low…until her knees touched carpeted floor. Lucien would sit, regal and relaxed, one large hand stroking her hair as the other balled into a fist fit tight between the bite of teeth to feel her take him in her mouth.

How she savoured him, warm velvet against the tip of her tongue, serpentine as it worked to coax that taste of pearlescent honesty from his body. And before she even had the chance to dab at glistening lips, she found herself gathered in his arms, powerless to resist the ardour of his kiss as he shared in the flavour of their illicit love.

But no matter how many times she turned, the seat behind her remained empty, the sight a cold wind blowing through a barren landscape to remind her of the void left behind by the betrayal of the man she loved.

Lucien. Ares.

Her cheeks burned with shame to find that even now, sitting in a theatre devoid of patrons save for herself and an elderly couple out of earshot, her hands sat restless in her lap, smoothing out the folds in her skirt and tugging at its hem.

And when the music reached its crescendo, she would close her eyes, inhaling deeply as she saw him in her mind: Lucien before he was Ares. She would allow herself the space of a scene to admit that she missed him, that despite the lies and cruelty, her heart stubbornly held out for any reason at all to forgive the unforgivable.

Only then would she permit her hands to travel up…up…up between her thighs. And Lucien would be there once more in the delicate fingers that danced over warm silk, impatient as they drew fabric aside to find that her body felt his absence as much as her heart.

She would try to remember how he liked best to touch her. Drawing circles of fluctuating circumferences about her clit. Teasing the entrance as index and middle finger furtively slipped deeper and deeper to distill the spirit of pleasure that dripped down the palm.

His love had intoxicated her with the most potent poison, and she wished she were still numb, stumbling through the fog of a waking dream instead of seeing things for what they were with blindingly sharp lucidity.

Her heart hurt because she simply knew too much.

But what she didn’t know was that someone watched as her head slumped to the side following soft sighs, wishing his shoulder had been there to support it. That dark eyes filled with torturous yearning in a dimly lit theatre to see love so close yet so far away. That unbeknownst to the girl, she had never once sat through a screening alone.

For Lucien had never left her side.


End file.
